


the glorious sun

by suliel



Category: Blood and Wine - Fandom, The Witcher: Blood and Wine, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Healing, References to Depression, Slice of Life, Tenderness, Therapy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suliel/pseuds/suliel
Summary: Dettlaff deserved genuine love, and in time he shall receive.Slivers of dawn after the darkest night, rivers of gold on pitch black, snippets of a happy life after the worst grief one can experience.New love that heals old wounds.





	1. the winter sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> i hate waking up alone on nice days so here’s some morning cuddles and emotions

It’s the sleepy mornings that he loves the most.

Winter days when she wakes up before him, the scant morning sun glancing in through the snow-dusted window panes and illuminating her pale face with pure, white light.

The clouds drift by in a pure, pale blue sky, slow and lazy, the same way he traces his fingers over her back as she sits up and watches them pass out of view. 

It’s so peaceful, so serene that he can almost pretend that they didn’t cry, didn’t suffer, didn’t bleed and choke and almost die to get here. When he rolls over so that the small of her back rests against his abdomen he can pretend that it’s always been like this, that he’s never loved anyone other than her, that the gold hair that spins over his sheets is the only he’s ever run his fingers through. He leans his head in and presses a kiss to the back of her arm and she turns to him slightly, enough that he can see the slightest curve of a smile on her lips. She reaches her arm back and goes to sink her fingers into his silver-streaked hair and massage his scalp. His eyes fall closed again, a satisfied hum resonating from deep within his soul. 

When he opens his eyes again her face is turned back to the window, blank and emotionless. He wonders what she’s thinking about; maybe the family she lost, those years ago, or the one that found her. Maybe she’s thinking of him, satisfied that her stubborn refusal to give up her love for him has rewarded her with a bond unbreakable. Maybe she’s reminiscing about how her life with him was forged in fire, how something that began so clumsy and broken and painful and one-sided could become so.... perfect.

But it doesn’t really matter, because a moment later she laughs softly and turns back to him, kissing his forehead as her hair drifts down around them, a golden curtain of lazy waves. 

“I love you,” She whispers, and her voice is relieved and comforted and safe, a safe place for him to run to when the world stands against him.

“I love you more,” He responds, because it’s true, to him at least, he loves her more than he loves life itself, he wants and needs her more than anything else. But as soon as it leaves his lips he knows he’s walked right into her trap, and she laughs and kisses his lips lightly before completing the circle.

“Well I love you  _most_ ,” And he smiles tearfully at the thought that she could love him more than the absoluteness he feels for her. And he’s crying, now, tears rolling down his skin as he reaches up and hugs her slim form to his chest, cradling her head against his.

“I love you,” He repeats, because it’s the only way he can make her understand, the only way he can show her how deeply the bond he feels for her goes. Because they’re different and it’s so, so painful, because there’s so many things she doesn’t understand, so many things she doesn’t know— but at the same time, so beautiful, because she loves him back anyways. “I love you so much. I love you more than the sun, more than the moon or all the stars in the sky...”

She’s crying too, because it’s all she’s ever wanted to hear, all she’s ever wanted to feel. 

“I know. I know,” She whispers back. “I love you too. Always.”

He blindly kisses her, messily. He needs to feel her, all of her, his hands blindly search for hers. She meets his embrace wholeheartedly, guiding his kiss, taking his hands in hers, resting her weight on his chest comfortably. 

It’s the sleepy mornings that he loves the most because they’re spent with her, the one he loves more than anything else in the world. And he plans to make each morning sleepier and more loving than the last, until all of time itself turns into one long, beautiful sleepy morning with her at his side.


	2. the moon on the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i’ve never been in love but being cared for seems nice, so here’s a shared bath

She’s sleepy, he can tell, slumped on the floor next to the bathtub, drowsily resting her head on her arms. One hand hangs in the water, as if she’d been testing the temperature when she’d started dozing off.

He walks over and sits in front of her, watching her eyes droop shut and blink weakly. 

“Kat...”

She mumbles something inaudible and he smiles silently.

“There’s no way I’m letting you bathe on your own when you’re barely awake. Come here.”

She scoots over and rests her forehead on his collarbone, and he carefully reaches behind her and starts unlacing her nightgown. She’s still mumbling, and he goes along with it, replying to her nonsensical mumblings.

“Yeah?”

“You think so?”

“Mhm?”

“Sounds nice.”

Soon he has her entire gown unlaced, and he gently pushes it off of her shoulders, letting it pool in her lap. 

He then starts to unpin her hair, letting the golden spirals of hair drift down and cover her back, her pale skin only a few tones different from her hair. Once the thick curtain of long, blonde tresses has been fully let down, he gently hooks his hands under her arms and stands, lifting her easily with his vampiric strength.

The gown falls to the floor, leaving her only covered by her golden hair— he doesn’t look, though, and simply gently sets her down in the tub, letting the warm, soapy water rise up to her shoulders. 

He rolled the sleeves of his tunic up and picked up the wash bucket, filling it with water and using it to wet her hair.

He then sat by the end of the tub behind her and massaged the sweet-smelling soapy water into her scalp, washing the day’s wear out of her hair.

And he talk about his day, in a slow, rumbling tone, his voice calm and just a touch gravelly as he mentions toys he repaired, flowers he saw, things he saw and felt and heard. It doesn’t matter that she’s already asleep, drifting harmlessly in the water like a delicate memory. What matters is the comfort, the ease of the moment, the ebb and flow of the bathwater as he rinses her clean. What matters is the care and the safety and the comfort that fills the room, the gentle aura that flickers with the lanternlight and the peace that glows on the moonlight.

Once he’s thoroughly satisfied that she’s clean, he takes great care in twisting her hair up neatly to get it out of the way without tangling it, then hooks his arms under hers once more and lifts her out, water running off her form in minute rivers of starlight. 

She comes to slightly as he’s tucking her in after rowling her off, eyes half-lidded and hazy with dreams already.

“Thank you,” She whispers, fighting to find the presence to speak in her drowsy state.

“Don’t think of it,” He replies quietly before kissing her forehead and pulling the blankets up her bare shoulders. “Rest. I’ll be here in the morning.”

She drifts back off with a smile and he waits, seated at the edge of the bed, until he’s sure she’s sound asleep; he then extinguishes her bedside candle and leaves her to her sleep.

On his way to his own chambers, he passes Regis, who gives him a wry smile.

“Spending time with her?”

Dettlaff pauses, and before he can even open his mouth to ask how he knows, Regis speaks again.

“You smell quite strongly of her body wash. Don’t worry, I’m quite pleased that you’ve taken to caring for her. It’s good to see you moving on.”

The thought that his attachment to her is simply him getting over someone else irks him a little.

“This isn’t me moving on. She just...”

“Needs you?” 

Regis is smiling and Dettlaff lets it rub off on him. He lets the moment go, he goes with the flow and admits to his softer tendencies.

“That may be true, but mark my words, old friend, one day your overshading tendencies will return to haunt you.”

“One day, perhaps. But not this day.”

Dettlaff smiled.

“So it would seem, my friend. So it would seem.”


	3. An Afternoon Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know i didn’t make this for the purpose of furthering the regis/geralt agenda but i can’t. i can’t help it. i had to, they made me, they made me and i had to—
> 
> anyways, i’m a ballerina and this is so self-indulgent but it makes me happy so there, valid

Laughter isn’t something Regis is used to hearing.

Maybe a few low chuckles from Geralt every now and then, or a giggle from Katerina over a meal— but full-bodied, raucous laughter? Never.

He wanders out of his little lab and towards the foyer, where the sound emanates from. He hears Katerina laughing, laughing so hard it sounds like she can barely breathe— and then slowly, slowly... he hears Dettlaff laughing too. It starts from a few scattered chuckles to a rolling laugh to full-bodied snorting laughter, interspersed with exclamations of “What? What is it? What’s so funny??”. 

He rounds the corner but stays out of sight, his heart softened by the sounds of joy and lighthearted fun. 

Katerina is wearing one of her ballet costumes, from her strange, satin shoes with hard toes and ribbon ties to her puffy, circular skirt and even up to the white feathers in her bun. Dettlaff has removed his coat and rolled his sleeves up, his red tunic contrasting brightly with her white costume. 

“You! You’re so heavy on your feet, it’s cute!”

“I can’t help it— I’ve never danced like this before!”

“Don’t help it!! I like it! My study man.”

She laughs and maneuvers around him, twirling and dipping her body as she passed from one hand to the other. 

“Here here, hold my arm up— like that! Yes! Now stay still... and...”

She kicks her leg up and spins like a top, letting Dettlaff guide her with his hand. She shows him a few other moves, and he starts to get it— within a few minutes he’s guiding her to leap and spin to and fro across the foyer, his feet moving quickly to keep up with her lunges and dives. She laughs more and more and more as they go— and then she leaps at Dettlaff, intending for him to catch her and spin her in the air— but she hadn’t showed him how to do that yet, so he fumbles and they end up crashing to the floor.

Regis has to stifle his own chuckle as he watched how Dettlaff’s expression goes from pure terror that he’s messed up to crippling concern for Katerina’s well-being after the tumble— and then back to joy and laughter as Katerina flops on top of him howling with laughter so powerful that she can hardly lift her head from the exertion of it all. After several minutes of foolhardy laughter and broken phrases describing how much fun it was, Dettlaff takes it upon himself to wraps his arms over Katerina and roll over so that he’s leaning over her as she lays on the cool tiles, and captures her lips in a cheerful kiss.

Regis pulls away, leaving them to their fun. He’s seen enough. 

He takes a moment to think back to when Katerina first came to them, as he makes his way back to his alchemy. So starved, dirty, and injured that she barely looked human; one foot already trough death’s door, reeking and bleeding on his operation table.

And then months, years of limping and therapy and trials and tribulations, all those days of stress and chaos in Bauclair, how close each of them came to death.... all leading to this. Joy. Laughter. Dancing in the foyer at all hours of the day. A happy home, a happy pack, all four of them closer than family. 

He’s incredibly grateful that he had the ability to save her that day. That everything worked out alright in the end, that Dettlaff is now laughing freely with the love of his life only a few rooms away.

He hears Geralt come in and the witcher immediately comes to the grey-haired vampire’s side, dumping a sack of herbs and game at his feet before wrapping him in a crushing hug from behind, mumbling about how he wished he had joined him for the day’s hunt. Regis laughs. They both laugh. The entire home, bubbling over with laughter. 

Luck has favored him in the end, Regis decides.

It has favored them all.


	4. The Moon Weeps, too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love isn’t a magic fix-all for depression and deep emotional pain, but it can certainly make the weight easier to bear
> 
> (courtesy warning for angst)

Katerina lay her head on Dettlaff’s chest with a quiet peace, and the two swayed in front of the fireplace slowly. Not quite dancing, not quite standing still, just peacefully swaying in place and spinning every few steps. 

He pulled her close and hugged her tightly, his heart squeezing painfully. It was hard to accept being loved, it was so hard to trust that she had no ulterior motive. He was so afraid of hurting her or scaring her away or learning she’d never really loved him. 

They stopped dancing and the guilt ate him up. He was being so stupid. They were having a nice time, and he went and got lost in his old wounds and killed the moment.

The guilt and old pain and all-consuming stress locked him in place, leaving him unable to do anything at all; he didn’t want to push her away for fear of hurting her, he was too distressed to start dancing again... he was too afraid of his own thoughts to talk to her about it. 

He stood there, shaking, squeezing her tighter and tighter to his chest. He hid his head in the crook of her neck, breath shortening, panic setting in—

Soft fingers slide through his hair.

He stops to feel it, the gentle massaging motions of her hand cradling the back of his head. Her other hand finds the back of his neck, rustling the fuzzy baby hair that framed his hairline. 

And he feels her lean into the embrace, tilting her head towards his so that she’s embracing as much of him as she can.

“Shhhhh. Don’t worry. I’m here. I love you.”

She doesn’t understand.

She’ll never understand.

But just her presence, her _attempts_ to understand, her arms around him and her soft words are enough to soothe the open wounds in his heart and maybe even begin to heal them.

He breaks down and cries, clutching her to his chest like a lifeline in a turbulent sea. She whispers soft nothings in every language she knows, her golden hair refracting the firelight and breaking up the blackness in his vision.

He loses track of time as his emotions unravel around him, only returning back to the present after his tears had run out and he found himself lying partially on the floor, the woven patterns of the thick, soft area rug cradling his form. His head and torso rested comfortably in her lap, his arms wrapped around her torso. The warmth of the fireplace washed over them both where they rested as she gently brushed out his silver-streaked black hair.

She felt him stop crying and leaned down, smiling softly. 

“That’s it. How do you feel now?”

He lay there silently for a few moments, his mind hazy from the emotionally exhaustive experience he’d just had. But slowly, slowly, he found himself able to open his mouth and speak.

“Numb.”

“Oh, _moi horoshiy_ ,” She whispered, leaning down to cover his form with her own, a clumsy but genuinely loving embrace. “That’s okay. It’s normal, after baring your heart so openly.”

The notion, not to mention the heartfelt delivery of it, comforts him. To be emotional is normal, to weep until you feel nothing else is expected. 

“Do you at least feel better now than you did before?” She asks further.

Again, he takes his time to think of his answer, looking deep into himself until he is certain.

“...Yes.”

And he is certain. The numbness is still painful, the endless hollowness in his heart— but it is worlds better than the stress and agony and heartache building up inside of him until every fiber of his being is aching with the effort of holding it in, is far better than when his rage finally overflows and he can see nothing but a sea of bitter red fury.

“I’m so glad,” She whispers, sitting back up and brushing the hair from his eyes, smoothing it back the way he likes. After a few more moments of simply being there for him where he’s collapsed to the floor, she uses her deft fingers to gently lift his chin so he can meet her gaze.

“Come, _moi solnishko_. The bed is a softer place to lie.”

He can’t bear the thought of moving at first, but after she presses her lips to his temple and whispers ‘please’ in the softest tone he’s ever heard her utter, he finds himself standing and shuffling over to the bed before finally dropping down onto it like a stone.

She giggled at the sight and the sound brought the smallest of smiles to Dettlaff’s lips as he lay facedown on the bed, exhausted. He felt her crawl up to his side and then he himself found a few weak chuckles as she tried to roll him over to no avail.

“Come on! You’ll suffocate if you lay down like that!” She begged in an amused tone, her palms uselessly pushing on his arm.

“I don’t need to breathe,” He reminded her, trying to smother his own chuckles.

“Still! I want to help undress you for bed.”

He turned over so quickly he almost knocked her out of the bed. She laughed, imagining him as a puppy eager for attention.

“Silly.”

He grinned at her crookedly. The emptiness was still there, the numbness still weighed down on his bones... but just because he was heartbroken and struggling to heal didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pleased and comforted in the moment.

She kissed him lovingly and he groaned into it, closing his eyes and melting under her touch.

He barely felt her unbuckle is heavy frock coat, barely felt her pulling the sheets and duvets down and over his undressed form— what he did feel was when the blankets finally settled and her bare form was lain comfortably atop his, heart to heart, her head resting in the nook where his collarbone met his shoulder.

Earlier in their relationship, this would have been an invitation for intimacy, for play, but now it is simply a show of comfort in each other’s company, of openness in the relationship.

He moves his hands to lock around her, closing his eyes against the distant flickers of the fireplace, and sinks into the moment. The weight of her body atop his smothers out some of the empty pain in his chest, enough that he finds sleep near at hand, and the transition from wake to sleep entirely painless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is really important for me because like.. i see a lot of media, whether fan-made or not, where falling in love magically cures all mental illness, but that’s not how it works in real life. trauma will always be there, whether you’re alone or not.  
> i don’t think dettlaff could ever “truly” heal from his ordeals in the sense that he’d never feel pain over it again, but i do know for a fact that having someone there for you, even if you stay just as “damaged”, can make the pain a little easier to bear.
> 
> on a sweeter note; “moi hiroshiy” and “moi sholnishko” are russian pet names and mean “my good/sweet boy” and “my beloved sun” respectably (the translations are clumsy but i hope the tone is understandable...)


	5. Brighter Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short drabble. just a massive pile of tooth-rotting fluff, as usual.

“What’s wrong?”

Silence.

“Something’s wrong. Tell me.”

More silence.

She leans in and places a kiss on the inner corner of his eye. Still, silence. So she moves on to his temple, to the space between his brows, to the little nook of his nose, his hairline and the cleft of his chin and the corner of his mouth.

Finally he moves, going to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her in with a deep inhale, pressing his brow to the center of her chest and inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume.

She holds his head and runs her hands through his raven locks, a bittersweet smile gracing her youthful expression.

“There you are. Come, tell me what’s wrong.”

Nonverbal murmurs follow. She laughs lightly, lovingly, and cranes her head down to kiss the top of his head.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk right now if you’re not ready.”

He mumbles a thanks and nuzzles her with a sigh, taking a turn pressing each plane of his face against her warm skin. He takes a few more deep breaths, and she goes to rest her knees on the edge of the chair he’s seated on to take the weight off her feet while she waits for him to collect himself.

And then he pulls away and cranes his face upwards, seeking hers. She smiles and leans down, kissing the tip of his nose affectionately. He lets out a low rumble from the core of his chest, turning his face to try and sneak a more intimate kiss. She obliges, pressing her soft lips against his and slowly coaxing him into a passionate kiss.

For a good while they stay like this, wrapped up in each other’s arms and comforting each other until he finally breaks the kiss by pulling her in flush to his chest and standing, holding her weight up until she has her feet under her.

“‘M going to bed,” He mumbled out, looking down at he ran with languid silvery eyes. “Come with me?”

“Do you even have to ask??” She questioned with a soft laugh, before peppering more kisses across his age-worn face. “Of course.”

He still sighs in relief and nudges his nose against her throat for a moment before striding over to their resting area, tossing himself carelessly onto the pile of blankets and using his own body to cushion her fall. She laughs and lays her body out over his before kissing his sternum and sighing.

“Get some rest,” She murmurs. “Feel better in the morning.”

He nods and then reaches up and strokes her hair fondly. She lays her head down on his chest to relax, and listens to the sound of him slowly combing her golden hair out with his fingers, long nails brushing her scalp with every other stroke. It drags her to sleep, and, slowly, one fiber at a time, the constant beat of her heart against his chest sends him to sleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you don’t always have to talk about your emotions. you’re allowed to be sad and not explain it or defend your right to feel that way. it can be better if you do, but at least make sure your partner knows it’s not because of them (if it isn’t).  
> your partner is not obligated to tell you why they’re upset. please don’t push someone who’s visibly (emotionally) hurting to do what you think will help. they’ll open up when they’re ready.


	6. Oh how the Daylight Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dettlaff is totally a worrywart. sneeze one (1) time in front of him and he will insist on staying inside and pampering you all day long. he has the (The) biggest heart ever and he just loves people too much

Katerina is burning up.

A summer fever has taken her over, and as much as Regis advises him to keep her buried under winter blankets to sweat out the illness, Dettlaff can’t bear to see her suffering. He’s reminded of her when she first came to them, weak and fragile, and that terrifies him.

He hasn’t left her bedside since the night she collapsed at dinner almost three days ago. She’s been unconscious most of the time— barely being woken to drink madicinal tonics every few hours, and sip some water and broth— and is shedding weight like a shorn lamb as her body struggles to regulate. 

He reached out and pulls the now almost steaming rag from her forehead, dips it in cold water anew and slowly pats her pale face down, the heat of her skin warming the rag alarmingly quickly.

She blinks a little and his heart flutters.

“Kat?”

Her chapped, colorless lips part and she takes a shaky breath.

“What day is it?”

Her voice is almost a whisper it’s so weak.

“The third of August. A Wednesday.”

“We were going to go to the creek today,” She murmurs, eyes closed and red-rimmed. “I’m sorry...”

Her apology cuts him deeply and he reaches out to cup her cheek consolingly.

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t chose to be sick.”

“It’s so hot... Let me out, please...”

“I can’t,” He chokes out through tears. “I know you’re burning up but Regis said you have to sweat out the fever.”

“Just one minute, please...”

She opens her eyes to look at him and they’re dull and reddened, nothing like their usual crisp glow. 

“Dettlaff please...”

His hands are physically trembling. He knows what’s good for her. But the begging in her voice...

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Kat, I’m so sorry. I can’t.”

He fumbles for a cup and fills it with icy medicated water from the pitcher on her bedside table.

“Here, drink this, please. It’s cold.”

He lifts her head with one hand and holds the cup to her lips with the other; she can barely drink, and just as much spills down her chin and neck as manages to get down her dry throat. 

“You’ll feel better soon,” He rambles in his low, deep tones, face furrowed with sorrow and pain for the suffering his fragile human lover is going through. “I promise. And we’ll go to the creek together as soon as you’re able.”

He sets the cup down and lays her head back down, then goes to pull her hair out of her way. The golden strands are slick with sweat, and he can only hope that her fever will break soon.

“You can wear that new bathing dress I bought you, or just go in your linens like you usually do, you unruly child,” He teases weakly, trying to be lighthearted so he could make her feel better, even though he felt quite the opposite. “We’ll skip stones and you’ll get upset that I can skip them farther. You’ll tell me—“

“‘You’re cheating, Dettlaff, you pompous vampire,’” Katerina recounts in a murmur, a hint of a distant smile gracing her expression. “‘If you were human, I’d win.’”

He laughs weakly, tears in his eyes as he rests his forehead atop his arms on the edge of her bed.

“I’ll win this time,” Katerina whispers. “Just you wait...”

“Of course you will,” He plays along. She’ll only win if he lets her. He raises his head, pushes her baby hair off her sweaty skin, and kisses her forehead tenderly. “I look forward to it.”

And she’s gone again, dragged back under by the sickness in her blood. Dettlaff takes the hot rag and cools it off again, washes down her face again, sits back in his chair and returns to his patient guard over her feverish form.

Regis comes some hours later when the moon is full in the sky, his arms full of poultices and flasks, looking excited and eager.

“I think I’ve finally found something that will certainly have her back on her feet again and dancing by tomorrow night,” He rambles, setting his things about. “I’m quite alarmed I didn’t consider it before, it should have been glaringly obvious from the first moment my usual fever treatments didn’t take—“

He stops and realizes that Dettlaff has all but blacked out slumped over Katerina’s bedside. By some miracle— or perhap’s Dettlaff’s own hand— Katerina’s arm is free of the blankets and her hand rests atop Dettlaff’s head in a consoling gesture.

Regis quiets, his heart softening at the sight, then begins to administer his treatment, careful to not wake either of them. 

Dettlaff wakes the next morning in a confused daze, his mind taking time to fully come to after so many nights awake and worrying. Where was he? What was he doing?

He feels the rough outerside of a duvet under his cheek and slowly becomes aware that he is sitting in a chair slumped over as the rest of his body starts to wake.A familiar hand rests in his hair, a soft but clammy palm resting on his temple.

And then it all comes rushing back to him and he panics, thinking she’d died while he was asleep and he’d failed to keep watch over her— but when his eyes snap open he finds Katerina propped up with pillows and speaking softly with Regis. She’s alive, her body is just weak and cold after expending so much energy.

He sits up abruptly and Katerina looks back to him, then dissolves into weak giggles at the sight of the blanket wrinkles pressed into his skin.

“Oh, Dettlaff,” She murmurs happily, eyes crinkling up with joy. “Never change.”

Her voice is clear and present, her feverish mental state gone— the sound overwhelms him with relief and he almost launches himself into the bed with her so he can embrace her, mind reeling. 

“I thought I was going to lose you!” He almost growls out, voice desperate and afraid. “I thought— I thought...”

“I’m here.” She whispers, and her voice is croaky and dry but her eyes are wide open and her lips are starting to color again— he pulls back and cups her face in his hands, finally feeling skin that is soft and cool under his palms rather than burning up and dry.

“How do you feel?” He begs, rubbing circles in her now slightly sunken cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Weak. Cold. And hungry,” She replies with a small smile. “But better. Much better.”

“How did you do it?” Dettlaff asks Regis, still cradling Katerina’s face in his hands.

“I’m glad you asked,” Regis started, clapping his hands together and winding up for one of his big monologues. “See, I assumed the fever was caused by some airborne infection that had reached her blood through her lungs, or a food-borne infection that had reached her blood through her digestive system. So I attempted to treat the infection first through those channels, and then more recently tried to manage the symptoms.”

“But that wasn’t it?”

“Indeed it wasn’t. The cause of our dear Katerina’s nearly deathly fever was this.”

He holds up a jar with a dead insect inside.

“Some kind of wasp, likely hidden in larval form in those exotic fruits we imported. It hatched in the fruit basket, and Katerina had the misfortune of picking up that basket at dinner and disturbing it. It stung her wrist and left a barb in her skin which was gradually poisoning her. We mistook itthat night for a simple mosquito bite, like she always gets this time of year, but when I found this cadaver on the ground by where we were storing the fruit, I realized the truth.”

“And the remaining fruit??”

“I checked all of it for insect holes and burned all those that had them. Still, I recommend we only eat those fruits after they’ve been processed in some way, and only you and I should handle the baskets.”

“Regis has saved my life yet again,” Katerina stated, looking over at her friend and doctor with a grateful smile. “I wouldn’t be here without his help.”

“It was really nothing,” Regis replied, though his voice was audibly overflowing with pride. “Still, I am incredibly glad to have figured it out. Once I removed the barb and lanced the blister, my previous remedies began to catch up. With a few days of good food and continued rest, we should have our old energetic Katerina back.”

Dettlaff reached out and pulled Regis in for a group hug, making Katerina laugh.

“Thank you. I could not have asked for a more loyal and dedicated friend,” Dettlaff spoke. “And Kat, I am so sorry I let this happen. I won’t—“

“Oh, don’t, it was an accident,” She exclaimed, her voice crackly. “It wasn’t your fault. Besides. I really do love those fruits. No deadly insect could scare me away from those lovely tidbits.”

Dettlaff gave a snort of incredulous laughter.

“Nothing dampens your spirit, does it, Kat?”

“Nothing.”


	7. Painting the Sun’s Light

Katerina had always been fragile, in a way. Like spun gold, she glittered and shined and yet shattered at a touch too heavy.

But sometimes, if pushed just right, she could be formed into something beautiful— without hurting her.

He features this particular beauty of hers in an afternoon painting, facing the expanse of nature outside their garden but instead painting the woman lying on the stone bench to the right of the expansive view.

Careful paintstrokes take note of the sunlight playing in her golden hair, the fibers in her silk house robes gliding over her skin... and the soft, small lovebites that pepper one side of her graceful throat.

It had been his first time marking her like that and he must have asked for her permission a thousand times; but she had welcomed it, begged for it even, and still he’d started her off small, barely bruising the delicate skin which he so ardently loved.

It was a milestone, a new page in the story of their relationship, so he preserves it eternally on canvas, painting the beloved marks with painstaking detail as she napped in the golden sun, a book of children’s poems in his native tongue abandoned at her chest.

He hopes that one day, he’ll paint that milestone, too.


End file.
